


Falcon Dance

by SweetHavok



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetHavok/pseuds/SweetHavok
Summary: A short drabble about life with Sam Wilson.





	Falcon Dance

Sam Wilson was your anchor in this life. You had been in the Army, sent overseas to fight in the war before being honorably discharged. You had nearly died when your convoy had been ambushed. You met him at the VA coming out of one of your PTSD meetings. So he got you; he understood your panic attacks, your inability to be around fireworks and crowded places. He knew to give your noise-cancelling headphones when thunderstorms rolled in. 

Sam Wilson was hilarious. He made bad jokes all the time, knowing it would elicit an eye-roll and groan from you. You pretended you hated the jokes, but you both knew how much you loved them. You had your fair share of bad jokes, most of them puns. Sometimes you got into a “pun off” to see who could make the worst jokes. Sam usually won.

Sam Wilson was a gentleman. He would hold open doors, help you out of cars, and even pull out your chair for you. He knew he didn’t need to or have to, and that you actually hated it if anyone else did it. But your war injury had left you with a limping gait, and sometimes the aches were too much. So you relied on him to help you. He took care of you. And in turn, you took care of him.

You cooked; it was something you had learned from your mother before heading out on your own. And oh did Sam love it. You could cook anything, from chinese to soul food. Baking was a specialty. Sam was always disappointed when you wanted to order take out to have a relaxing night, but he always let you choose. So you let him pick the movies. You both avoided anything pertaining to war or the military. It was too much for either of you.

You both loved to dance; he would put on music while you were cooking, and gather you into his arms with a grin. You would laugh and playfully swat him away, but as soon as he began swaying, you fell into step with him. He would twirl you, dip you, and lift you into the air; you two were in perfect sync.

When Sam had particularly rough sessions or emergency interventions with his guys, you immediately went into nurture mode. You made his favorite comfort foods and put his favorite beer in ice bucket beside the couch. When he walked in the door, looking worn and ragged, you were instantly at his side. You took his coat and took him to the couch, bringing him a plate and beer. You let him eat in silence, then when he was finished, you pulled him between your legs and rubbed his temples. He would go slack in your embrace, eyes closing with a content sigh.

Sam Wilson was your anchor in this life; and you were his.


End file.
